


i hear the walls repeating

by enbytim



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Established Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, Gen, post 9x06
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-31
Updated: 2020-10-31
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27313015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbytim/pseuds/enbytim
Summary: "Mickey's here."or; lip visits ian in prison
Relationships: Ian Gallagher & Lip Gallagher
Comments: 12
Kudos: 126





	i hear the walls repeating

**Author's Note:**

  * For [enbymickey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/enbymickey/gifts).



> aha hi ✌️ how are we all?? i know it's been a while since i last posted... _anything_ but. well. _life_
> 
> anyway, i'm here now. for this. i've had this idea in the drafts for a while and seeing as it's jordan's birthday i figured why not actually write it?? so this is for you jordan!!! i love you so much i hope you like it!!!

By the time Lip pulls into the parking lot, the rain is heavy enough to drown out the classic rock station he has playing on the radio. They’d just started taking listener calls, so it’s not like he really minds. He gets as close as he can to the entrance gate, the front bumper almost grazing the chain link security fence as he eases to a stop and pulls the keys from the ignition. They jangle a little, dangling from his pointer finger, as he leans back against the headrest and stares out helplessly through the windshield. It hadn’t been raining at _all_ when he’d left home a couple hours ago, and he feels the tell-tale bite of goosebumps gnawing at the inside of elbows.

The rain is kinda rhythmic in the way it pounds against the roof. One metallic _pang_ after another. Steady in a way that he… really isn’t. If he didn’t have to get out in a minute, open the door of Fiona’s fancy new car so he can find his way inside, this would almost be relaxing. But, well. He _does_ have to get out soon, is the thing. He does. And he is uncomfortably aware of just how thin his t-shirt is. It’s not like he’d needed a jacket or anything this morning. But, of course, the universe decides to screw him over on the one day he needs things to go okay. It’s not like he’s asking for a fucking miracle or anything, y’know? He’s not exactly asking for anything out of the ordinary, either. Just _one day_ where he has his shit together. Just _one_.

He just… he needs Ian to know that he hasn’t _completely_ fallen apart in the last week. Ian’s got enough to worry about without thinking that Lip’s fucking hopeless without him around. Whether or not that’s true doesn’t matter. He just needs Ian to believe it is.

Not that it really matters. It’s not like Ian hasn’t seen him at his absolute fucking _worst_ before, anyway. Not like Ian hasn’t helped him pick up the broken shards of his own life and stuck ‘em back together with glitter glue and silly string. And as embarrassing as it is, sometimes, to know just how bad things were for a while, it’s also kinda comforting. That Ian’s seen the absolute worst of him, the bottom of the barrel that was his existence, and stayed anyway. It’s not much of an exaggeration to say that Lip’s still _here_ because of him. And whether that’s a blessing or a curse is yet to be decided because his life can truly fucking _suck_ sometimes. But it’s the truth. There’s a spot right next to Monica in that cemetery calling his name and the only reason he hasn’t answered it yet is because of Ian.

He’s not meant to think about it like that. Giving other people credit for his own sobriety is one of the cardinal sins of recovery. It “takes away from his own contributions” or whatever. And yeah, okay, maybe they have a point. _Lip_ is the one who wakes up every single day and makes a choice to stay sober. To ignore the little voice in the back of his head telling him to give in, that one drink won’t hurt, that _just one beer_ would help take the edge off. _Lip_ makes that choice. Every. Single. Day. It’s not like he doesn’t _know_ that.

But, well, Lip’s been… trying… not to lie to himself anymore. At least not about the big things. And he _would be_ if he said he’d managed to do this all by himself. Maybe it was a mistake, but he _had_ thought that was true for the both of them. For a while there they’d managed to keep each other accountable for their own shit, and that had felt a little like winning.

And then, just like everything else, it had all come tumbling down around them. Because of course it had. _Of course,_ it had. So, now, here he is. Sitting in a prison parking lot and watching the way the rain winds its way across the windshield. It reminds him of a spider’s web, kinda. Thick ribbons of water crisscrossing across the glass, pulsing like arteries.

Lip lets out a slow, steady breath. His fingers fumble against the door handle for a couple seconds before they hook into place. The rain becomes a cacophony, drowning out literally _everything_ else, as he swings his legs outta the car. Within seconds his jeans are plastered to his thighs, quickly followed by the rest of him getting soaked as he slams the door behind him and locks the car.

He has to squint to find the visitor’s entrance, one dripping hand cupped across his brow. It takes him an embarrassing amount of time to notice the sign pointing him in the right direction, and normally he’d be annoyed about it. But, all things considered, it’s at the bottom of his list of things to be pissed off about. The soles of his sneakers squelch against the concrete as he sets off, and he desperately tries to ignore the cold creeping across his toes.

The visitation room they lead him into is small. Way smaller than Lip had been expecting, anyway. Which… Well, in all honestly Lip doesn’t really know _what_ he’d been expecting. The walls are so chipped that there’s barely any of the light green paint left, and there are cracks in the faded linoleum. There are a cluster of grey plastic tables in the middle of the room, and there’s something about the sight of them that makes the loneliness rooted in Lip’s stomach bloom. It winds its way up his chest, the vines of it wrapping around his ribs and _squeezing_ until he creaks from the pressure. Claws its way up his throat and lodges itself against the back of his tongue until all he can taste are the ashes of what his life once was and the bitterness of what his life is going to be.

Lip isn’t stupid. Sure, there are some people out there who take great pleasure in telling him otherwise. _Debbie_. People who rant and rave about how he’s wasted every opportunity he’s ever been given. _Fiona._ And they might be right. Just a little, though, because he can already hear Brad’s lecture about alcoholism being a disease and not a choice. But, even if they _are_ right, Lip’s not an idiot.

It’s not like Lip doesn’t know what prison is, or what it means, or what it does to people. He’s from the goddamn South Side, of course he knows. But to know it in the abstract, without having to see it first-hand, and to be standing right in the fucking middle of it are two _very_ different things. And yeah, sure, a week ago he’d been standing in the exact same parking lot he’d just been in, watching his best friend – his _brother_ – walk away from him for the last time. To spend the next… he doesn’t even wanna think about how many years… stuck in here.

It hasn’t exactly been easy to forget that part. Lip has spent _a lot_ of time over the last week convincing himself that Ian’s just staying with a friend for a while. Because the truth of it? The guilt of it, even if it’s not his fault? Pushes him dangerously close to breaking point. And he won’t – he _won’t_ \- tip over the edge. He’d made a fucking promise to still be around when Ian gets out.

Standing here really isn’t helping him with that, though.

Neither is the yellow jumpsuit that Ian’s wearing when he’s ushered into the room a few minutes later. He ducks his head as he steps through the door, and Lip is _so_ fucking glad to see that the black hair is gone. Lip hadn’t exactly made it a secret that he’d hated it. Hated what it meant.

Ian glances up, and it’s like he’s got a goddamn homing beacon wired into his brain because his eyes land on Lip immediately. He smiles, and that in itself isn’t weird – how can it be, when Lip’s smiling like an idiot too – there’s something about it that _is_. There aren’t many things that Lip can truly claim to be an expert on, but Ian is one of them. Even if it doesn’t feel like it sometimes. He is. And, being the expert that he is, he knows the difference between relieved and relaxed.

Ian? Ian’s relaxed. Ian’s in _prison_ and he’s _relaxed_. What the ever-loving _shit_ is going on here?

The guard that led him in leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest and obviously fighting a yawn, and Lip takes that as his cue to move. He does it slowly, because he has no idea how shit works here, and he doesn’t wanna get Ian in trouble. Ian’s smile shifts into something a little more sarcastic, and he raises an eyebrow as he scuffs the toe of his shoe against the floor.

As they draw closer to each other, Lip resigns himself to picking a table and just… sitting down. He’d probably been told at one point, but he has no idea of what’s allowed and what isn’t. His question is answered a couple seconds later when an older lady throws herself at a bald guy covered in tattoos. Lip doesn’t let himself look for too long, just keeps an eye on them long enough to see if the guards say anything about it.

When they _don’t_ , he turns back to Ian and raises his own eyebrow in return. They both huff out quiet laughs and then they’re moving, and whatever tension Lip’s been carrying around for the past week melts away. He feels Ian’s chin come to rest against his shoulder, and it makes him smile a little. It’s always been one of Ian’s _things_. Has been ever since they were kids and Ian used to sneak into his bed whenever Frank and Monica had an argument.

It’s a comfort thing. Lip’s just never told Ian it comforts him, too.

“You doin’ okay?”

Lip snorts and pulls back so he can meet Ian’s eye. “Shouldn’t I be the one askin’ _you_ that?”

Ian shrugs and slowly sinks down onto the nearest chair. He jerks his head, indicating Lip sit down opposite him. The plastic is rough and uncomfortable against the backs of his legs, and he shifts a little.

Ian grins and taps a fingertip against the top of the table. “You go swimming before this, or what?”

“Fuck you, man.” Lip laughs and runs a hand through his hair. Drops of water go flying across the table, leaving the plastic a mosaic of greys. “It wasn’t raining when I left.”

“You come straight from home?”

There’s a longing in Ian’s voice that matches the longing in Lip’s chest. It’s been a _week_ and Lip already misses him like a phantom limb. Lip’s never doubted exactly what Ian is to him. Sure, he loves the others. Would drive himself into the goddamn _ground_ for them. Of course, he would. But Ian’s been with him his _whole life_. Lip might be older, but he doesn’t remember a time before Ian.

And yeah, okay, as they’ve grown up and become their own people instead of just being LipandIan, they’ve drifted apart at times. That’s natural, probably. Lip wouldn’t really know. He’s never had another… _Ian_.

It’s been a week, and Lip misses him so fucking _much_ at times it feels like he’s losing his mind over it. He doesn’t say that, though.

Instead, he nods. “Yeah. Fiona let me borrow the car, too.”

Ian’s eyebrows shoot up. “She’s gonna be pissed if you get her fancy interior all wet, y’know.”

“I can’t control the fucking weather, Ian.” Lip says. He rolls his eyes just to hear the way Ian laughs. “You doing okay in here? I don’t have to get myself locked up too just to look out for you, do I?”

Ian’s eyes change, _light up_ , in a way that can only mean one thing, and Lip’s not even surprised when Ian says it.

“Mickey’s here.”

Whatever anxiety, whatever worry about how Ian’s been looking out for himself in here, settles. Disappears. Of course, Mickey’s here. Where else would he be?

**Author's Note:**

> the way i constantly forget to include my socials
> 
> ANYWAY
> 
> [twitter](http://twitter.com/philipronans) | [tumblr](http://philipronans.tumblr.com)


End file.
